


The Danger of Assumptions

by Sub_Zero_MKA



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anti-Team Cap, BAMF Dora, Don't make Assumptions, Gen, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pro-T'Challa, T'Challa is no one's sugar daddy, neither pro nor anti team Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 08:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11353968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sub_Zero_MKA/pseuds/Sub_Zero_MKA
Summary: Steve Rogers and the other Rogue Avengers come to Wakanda seeking sanctuary from the various world governments out for blood. T'Challa makes the only reasonable decision.





	The Danger of Assumptions

**Author's Note:**

> I was reluctant to re-enter this particular fandom, since this movie has divided everyone down the middle. But, I've been reading a lot of stories where T'Challa takes in Steve and the others and gives them a place to stay. While those stories are fine, that really makes no sense whatsoever, which is the premise of this story.

_ **The Danger of Assumptions** _

 

The so-called 'Civil War' left T'Challa drained, both physically and mentally. His actions in Bucharest weighed heavily on his soul. The death of his father left him blind with grief and rage. Nothing short of the death of the man he thought responsible, James Barnes, would quench his thirst for revenge. That changed the moment Helmut Zemo admitted that it was _he_ , _not_ James Barnes, who was responsible. T'Challa felt like a fool.

 

To allow himself to be so overtaken by grief that he nearly killed an innocent – relatively speaking – man was not something he was going to get over anytime soon. At least until said man could receive the help he so desperately needed.

 

He was standing within the halls of the regal, beautiful royal palace in Wakanda's capital city. He had exchanged his Black Panther uniform – which was stained with blood, both literal and figurative – for the uniform of a King. A sharp black suit, red shirt, and silk tie that was knotted, but loosed around his neck. His gaze was fixed on the jungles that surrounded his palace. _His_ palace, not his father's. _He_ was now King of Wakanda, and with it came responsibilities that he was in no way ready to shoulder. He was prepared – he had been preparing his entire life for this moment. But, the weight of the crown did not register with him until he was placed on his head.

 

It was a heavy crown.

 

He sighed as he listened to a set of heavy footsteps approach him, then stop just a few feet from him. The man beside him, Steve Rogers, was a complex one. He claimed to be fighting for the people of Earth, and yet, his actions proved otherwise. He fought for one person, James Barnes. Even _that_ seemed up for debate. His actions in Bucharest were counterproductive in regards Barnes' freedom. T'Challa determined that had Rogers not interfered, Barnes would have given himself up without a fight. Of course, that did not change Zemo's intentions once Barnes was in the prison, but at least he would not have eight more souls on his conscience.

 

Three officers died fighting Rogers and Barnes in the stairwell. Five civilians died when Barnes destroyed the tunnel opening. Eighty more civilians were injured during the chase. The chase that T'Challa was partially responsible for.

 

“Thank you,” Rogers said after a lengthy silence, “for keeping Bucky safe.”

 

T'Challa kept his eyes on the jungle and nodded once. “He is to remain in stasis until our scientists and therapists can figure out a strategy. Then, we shall help him. He will stay here until his mind is purged of all Hydra influence.”

 

He heard Steve sigh in relief. “My friends are in the Raft.”

 

A simple statement. One neither could argue. “Yes. They were arrested at the Leipzig/Halle airport.” The airport T'Challa played a role in destroying. If it was not for his diplomatic immunity, combined with his signing the Accords, he would be in just as much trouble as Rogers. Luckily, he had the sense to sign.

 

Rogers sighed again. This one was more out of nervousness. “I need to get them out, but I need help.”

 

His head tilted to the right as he turned it left to look at Rogers. There was a pleading expression in his eyes. T'Challa could not believe what he was hearing. “You... want me to help you break your allies out of the Raft?”

 

He nodded once. “I just need transportation.”

 

To do even that much would make him an accomplice. No. He would not even dream of subjecting himself – much less Wakanda – to that kind of risk. “No.” It was said quietly, but with an unmistakable firmness and finality that brooked no argument.

 

Rogers sensed that, and didn't try. “Okay.”

 

A member of the Dora Milaje, T'Challa's personal bodyguards, approached them silently, her face set in an expression as hard as stone, hands clamped behind her back. “My King,” she uttered with a respectful bow.

 

He nodded his head in return. That would take some getting used to hearing on a daily basis. “Nareema will escort you to the quinjets, where you will be taken to the border. From there, you are on your own. If you attempt to steal the quinjet, or assault the Dora, she will make you regret it.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her jaw clench ever so slightly.

 

Rogers swallowed, but nodded. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Five days later, he received the news. The four inmates – Wanda Maximoff, Scott Lang, Sam Wilson, and Clint Barton – were broken out of the Raft. The building was disabled, and could not submerge. Rogers had accomplished his foolhardy, presumptuous mission, just as T'Challa predicted. That man was dangerous. There was very little he could not accomplish if he set his mind to it.

 

He could only imagine the good that would be done if Rogers put that stubbornness and determination to good use instead of fulfilling his selfish desires. No matter. What Rogers and his allies did from the moment Rogers left Wakanda days go onward was none of his concern. His only concern was Wakanda and the people in its borders.

 

A security guard burst into his office, slightly out of breath. One look at his face compelled him to ignore this gross breach of etiquette. “What is it?”

 

“My King, there is an unidentified vessel inbound. It is coming right for the Royal Palace.”

 

He felt his chest tighten. Surely, there was no way... No. He was clear in his words to Rogers days ago. Whoever this intruder was would pay dearly for this trespass. With haste, T'Challa changed into his Black Panther uniform and equipped himself with a dozen vibranium knives. He was met at the door by five Dora, which equipped with vibranium knives and vibranium-weave armor. He nodded, and together, they headed for the roof.

 

When they arrived, they saw a quinjet parked on the roof. Not one of Wakandan design, but rather SHIELD. SHIELD was destroyed – a second time, though, he was certain it would not last – so he was uncertain as to who to inform about this theft, but he would consult with Tony Stark and the Avengers in due time.

 

The back hatch opened, and out came Steve Rogers, along with the four inmates and two women. One he instantly recognized as Natasha Romanoff. He felt his hackles raise at the very sight of her. Even if she had been correct in doing so in hindsight, her betrayal still burn deeply.

 

He gestured for the Dora to fall back as he approached them. Removing his mask to reveal his hardened expression, he sighed deeply. Evidently, he was not clear enough when he spoke to Rogers. “You have returned,” he said.

 

He nodded. “Luckily, I still have some friends in the US.”

 

His use of the word 'friend' in this situation bothered T'Challa. A man should not have used his friends to help him commit crimes against his home country. Also, he thought Tony Stark was Rogers' friend, but apparently, that was an incorrect assumption. “So it would seem.” He looked at Rogers expectantly, waiting for the asinine request that he knew was coming.

 

“I was hoping you had a place ready for us.”

 

He could not stop the smile from cracking his stony visage. The absurdity. The sheer lunacy was hilarious. T'Challa chuckled, then it grew into an outright mirthful laugh that shook his entire body. He turned to face the Dora, jabbing his thumb toward the fugitives in the classic 'this guy' gesture. Even some of them had smiles on their otherwise stony faces.

 

The laughter stopped abruptly, and T'Challa got down to business. He could have told them no outright, but a ludicrous request such as this required something a little extra. “You want sanctuary here in Wakanda?” he asked to be absolutely certain.

 

Rogers nodded tentatively. “I... assumed you had already given it.”

 

Any mirth that had remained evaporated. He frowned heavily. “You assumed. Mr. Rogers, I believe you have made a critical miscalculation.” Forget extra; he needed to get right to the point. “I extended sanctuary to _Sgt. Barnes,_ not you and your... 'friends'.”

 

Alarmed murmurs rippled through the group, some whispering harshly to one another. For his part, Rogers was shocked. Utterly shocked. “But, I thought—”

 

“And you thought incorrectly,” he replied, cutting him off. “I extended sanctuary to _Sgt. Barnes_ because I falsely accused him of murdering my father in Vienna. I was incorrect, and I seek amends with him by aiding him in freeing himself from Hydra's influence. Which is why he is to remain here for the duration.” He made certain to speak slowly and careful to remove any ambiguity in his words. “However, I owe none of you anything. I am under no obligation to aid you in any way. In fact, to do so would—”

 

“Don't owe us anything?!” Barton snarled as he took a dangerous few steps forward. He cleared the halfway point between them and T'Challa when a vibranium knife flew through the air, coming perilously close to impaling his foot.

 

T'Challa hadn't moved a muscle. Rather, the knife came from one of the Dora behind him. The next moment, he heard the five of them take a step forward in unison. A warning.

 

T'Challa continued as if Barton hadn't said a word. “—make Wakanda guilty of aiding and abetting wanted criminals. It would make _myself_ guilty of such. That is something I would not dream of doing.” He glanced at each of them, establishing eye contact with each of them to show that he was serious. His eyes narrowed as his heavy gaze lingered on Romanoff for a moment longer than the others. She wilted, to his internal delight.

 

“Where are we supposed to go?” Maximoff had the nerve to ask.

 

“That, Miss Maximoff, is none of my concern. You have two options. You can leave Wakanda and never return.” The alarmed murmurs returned full force, accompanied by resentful glares by some. He continued regardless. “Or you can reside in our prison cells until the Avengers can pick you up and detain you until your trials.”

 

“What?!” Barton was breathing heavily, a fierce glare directed at T'Challa. He appeared to be contemplating taking another step, but another unified step forward by the Dora quashed that desire like an ant under the heel of an elephant.

 

“T'Challa, let's try and work something out,” Steve said pleadingly.

 

T'Challa felt his jaw clench. “That is _Your Highness_ to you, Mr. Rogers. And, there is nothing to work out. I have given you the only two options possible. It is up to you to accept. If you do not within the next,” he held his hand out, and waited until one of the Dora handed him a pocket watch, “five minutes, starting now, you will be forcibly detained in our prison cells until the Avengers come to extradite you back to the United States.”

 

Rogers glanced back at the others. They were horrified by what they had heard. It was clear they all were under the assumption that Wakanda was just going to open its doors and allow them inside without any trouble or fuss. Truly, the arrogance these people possessed was staggering.

 

“T'Cha—Your Highness, we can't go back to the US. We don't have anywhere else to go.”

 

“Four minutes, five seconds.”

 

“Please!” Maximoff screeched. “They will throw us back into the Raft! Those monsters will put that damned collar back on me!”

 

He knew of the shock collar. It may have seemed torturous to some, including her – understandably so – but it was designed to prevent her from using her powers. If she accepted her fate, there would not be any problems. Of course, T'Challa knew she – or any of them – would not accept her fate. They all still believed they were in the right, even with the entire planet screaming that they were not. “That is not my problem.”

 

She snarled, the wretched red glow of her powers enveloping her hands life sparks of electricity.

 

His head tilted as he regarded her. “I would not make that mistake, if I were you. I have no qualms about killing you were you stand if it means protecting myself, the Dora behind me, and the innocent bystanders that inhabit this palace,” he said coldly. “You have three minutes, twenty seconds.”

 

Rogers swallowed, and allowed his shoulders to sag. A pathetic display from a grown man. “I understand. Let's go.”

 

“But—”

 

“ _Let's go,_ ” he said to Barton. Begrudgingly, he, and the others with Rogers, boarded the stolen quinjet. Before the hatch closed, Romanoff glared back at him with the infamous Widow's Glare™.

 

T'Challa merely regarded her as a fully grown adult would a small child throwing a tantrum.

 

When the quinjet disappeared from view, he sighed. The arrogance and presumptuousness displayed left him feeling more drained than the Civil War had. These people had once been responsible for the Earth's protection. It was a wonder that there was anything left. Then again, it was always only a matter of time.

 

He left the roof, followed by the Dora. Conflict had been avoid, thankfully. For then, he would busy himself with speaking with Tony Stark and informing him of what had just happened.

 

As he returned to his office, he began to doubt whether he should have just arrested them then and there. It was the just thing to do, but not the most practical. They were ill-prepared for a battle that involved the likes of Wanda Maximoff. He would not feel comfortable risking his life, the Doras' lives, or the lives of the innocent people nearby in a battle that was sure to spiral out of control. The first action he would have had to take would be to kill Maximoff immediately, an action that would rob the people of Lagos of the justice they so rightly deserved.

 

No, he made the right decision. To make sure they were found in quick order, he needed to inform the UN and Tony Stark immediately.

 

He shook his head. Seriously, the arrogance was mind-numbing.

 

 


End file.
